Wedding Night
by Septemberrains8
Summary: Remus and Minerva attempt to consumnate their clandestine marriage but the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place are unwittingly getting in the way. RLMM PreOOTP.
1. Chapter 1

Warning! I ship Remus/Minerva. If you do not like this pairing/do not think it is plausible/do not think Remus is straight that is entirely up to you. Please do not flame me to tell me any of the above as I am already well aware that this story may not be to everyone's taste. Thank you.

**Wedding Night**

****

I'm standing at the window looking out over the scruffy, unkempt excuse for a square that is Grimmauld Place. This is my home for the forseeable future: this gloomy, filthy house left too long with dark creatures, ancient curses and a malevolent house elf as its only keepers. Even the window is covered in grime. I can hardly make out the indistinct shapes of muggles passing along the street at the far end of the square. They don't look this way and even if they did they wouldn't see me.

Somewhere out there daylight is fading and the orange lamps of London burst and splutter into life. Headlights on cars, neon signs, strip lights in offices and soft glow in houses.

I should be tense, worried, depressed, miserable – emotions I have experienced in plenty these past few weeks. But today they have vanished like Dementors before a powerful Patronus.

Today I feel only joy.

Because today is the day that Minerva finally returns to me.

* * *

For over a year we've been together, and never have we been parted for this long. I remember her as I last saw her: standing on the lawn at Hogwarts in robes of white satin, raven hair in an elegant twist. Her expression reflecting mine: joy tempered with sadness. Why did it have to be this way? Our wedding was hasty, rushed, driven by a sudden desire to set our love in stone and make it binding and complete. Unspoken fear whispered with the wind in the trees. Cedric Diggory's tragic, untimely death and the coming darkness it represented had devasted Hogwarts' staff and students, particularly Minerva, who had witnessed much of that day's terrible events firsthand and in the process had seen her whole world turn upside down. An innocent boy murdered. Another forced to watch. A trusted colleague revealed as a traitor of the worst possible kind… Hogwarts has always been considered as untouchable, a safe haven even through the wizarding world's most troubling times. Now it is no longer so.

Afterwards, after Sirius had brought me the news I'd been dreading, after Minerva had finally arrived home and cried in my arms long into the night, after it all: I finally asked her a question I should have asked her many months earlier. Somehow I'd fooled myself into thinking that I had plenty of time. But if we didn't do this now would we suddenly find it too late? To lose her now would be unbearable, unimaginable torture. And so I made her my wife that day, and so I became her husband.

Afterwards I left for Grimmauld Place to join the rest of the Order and she stayed at Hogwarts, its guardian in Dumbledore's absence. I know it pained her to see me go so soon but she bore it with stoicism as she always has. As she always does. She knows that true bravery shows not in ostentatious heroism but in facing the unpleasant and choosing not to run away but to stand tall and see things through. She is a true Gryffindor and I hope one day I learn to be as courageous as her. I've done my best here in her absence, trying to keep my spirit strong, trying to look after those around me. But it's only when she's not with me that I realise how much of my strength comes from her.

For three long, lonely weeks I've been waiting for her in London. I don't wear my wedding ring for fear of it causing comment. Though I have few friends outside of the Order there are plenty in London who know who I am. Or rather, what I am. The Ministry is moving away from the light and towards the shadows at an alarming rate. Once they preached tolerance and acceptance. But the memory of Voldemort's earlier reign has faded fast. Now predjudice – along with those who advocate it – is thriving. So to all but a select few my relationship with Minerva is history: a small flame that flared briefly then flickered out. A moment of misguided madness on Minerva's part, perhaps. Nothing worth worrying about now.

Only Dumbledore and Sirius know the truth. They know how desperately I miss her and they've done their best to keep me busy. After all, the Order has plenty of work to do. Several days I have visited Privet Drive and sweltered in the hot June sunshine as I did my best to watch over Harry. I've spent time shadowing witches and wizards whose dreadful past crimes are widely known, if never proven. I've helped with the Order's planning meetings, trying to calm things down when tempers fray and sharp words are spoken.

And in my few spare moments I've found comfort in my memories. Those early days at Hogwarts when we had no reason to believe that the future was anything but ours. When we had nothing more to fear than the gossip of nosy students. And that summer – the long months we spent together. A world away from the sweat and grime and cold desperation of London. I think of Minerva constantly. My wife. It doesn't seem possible that of all the men in the world she'd pick me. Our wedding photo is tucked in a drawer beside my bed. I look at it and remember.

And I'm thankful.

I could be thousands of miles away, safe and secure. Not knowing or caring about Voldemort's return and how it threatens us.

But I'd rather be here with her, and with my friends. Knowing that even if, god forbid, we fail then it won't be because we didn't try. And now she's coming back to me: yesterday Dumbledore announced he would be returning to Hogwarts for a while and that Minerva would be joining us in London. I thank Merlin it isn't full moon and I can spend this precious time with her. I've hardly been able to relax all day for worrying. What if she doesn't get here safely? What if she's had second thoughts? What if she's found someone else, someone better? Molly threw me out of the kitchen after I dropped two glasses in a row so now I have nothing to do but sit here in the drawing room and fret.

The doorbell rings and I half jump out of my seat. I have sharp ears – one of the few benefits of being a werewolf – and I hear immediately the footsteps overhead as the children run to see whom our latest visitor is. Several of the adults have grown frustrated by their presence, perhaps forgetting the sterling work Molly and Arthur have been doing for us, not the mention the curiosity that they, too, would have had in their youth. But these children are our future. They are the ones we will come to depend upon when we grow old and frail. They are the ones who will take our places if – god forbid - we don't live that long. At the very least they deserve our patience.

I wonder if-

And then I decide it's better not to think about it. Better just to be thankful for what I have. I take a deep breath and stand. I feel suddenly nervous: ridiculous, really. I pause to brush the dust from my clothing and make myself as presentable as possible but before I can reach the door I hear Molly's voice. In the short time it's taken me to compose myself she's silenced Mrs Black and opened the door: a remarkable achievement that speaks volumes for Molly's loathing of the portrait.

"Come in Professor," she says breathlessly. "I'm still getting the dinner ready, I'm afraid. But Remus was around a moment ago. I'm sure he'll entertain you."

If she only knew.

"I'm here," I say quietly, stepping out into the hallway.

Minerva stands on the doorstep, bags in hand. Despite her legendary self control she can't stop her slight intake of breath as finally we set eyes on each other once more. Greedily I drink in every detail of her appearance: hair as tightly pinned back as ever, muggle clothes immaculately pressed. It's as though I need to reassure myself that she's still there, that nothing has changed between us even though everything has changed around us. As she enters the hallway her usual staccato footsteps are muffled by the threadbare carpet. She places her bags down at the bottom of the stairs.

The dull glow of the chandelier glints eerily in the glass of her spectacles and for a second my heart jumps in my chest. This is what it does to you, this miserable place, but I try my best to ignore it and as she looks up at me time slows around us. I can see her face is slightly flushed and I know it's not from the exertion of her journey. We've waited a long time for this night, our first together as husband and wife. It seems like we've been gawping at each other for ages but luckily Molly hasn't noticed.

"There we are," she beams. "Dinner will be half an hour." And without a backward glance she bustles off downstairs.

I'm aware of the unseen eyes and ears above me and step backwards rather than forwards.

"How are you, Professor?" I say, politely indifferent.

She frowns in confusion and I silently gesture towards the staircase.

"Remus," she acknowledges with a nod of understanding. "Yourself?"

I smile.

"I'm sure you've had a long journey. Perhaps you would like to sit down?"

I gesture towards the living room and she puts her bags down and follows me silently across the threshold. Then, when she's safely inside, I gently but firmly close the door behind us and only then do I hold out my arms to her in greeting.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place, Mrs Lupin."

She flings herself at me, all semblance of self control thrown to the wind as her mouth claims mine, taking my breath away with a simple kiss.

"Does that door lock?"

A muttered incantation takes care of the problem.

"It does now."

We collapse together into a tatty velvet armchair and my hand slides up her thigh only to discover that her seemingly sedate stockings end lacily at mid thigh.

"Oh Merlin, how I've missed you," she whispers.

She's straddling my knees and cupping my face with her hands, not caring that her hair is starting to fall loose or that her dress has ridden up almost to her waist. This is the woman I love. So intensely private that most would think she had no life beyond the classroom and the library. They don't know that when the door closes Professor McGonagall ceases to exist and Minerva comes alive, powerful and passionate. They only get the occasional glimpse of who she really is but I am privileged enough to know her all of the time. I have been permitted to share her beauty and her life and her bed.

I've missed her so much that now she's finally here I can barely breathe.

She settles herself more comfortably into my embrace, curling her legs up and nuzzling her head against my neck. The warmth of her skin against mine sets my nerves alight, the delicate scent of her perfume teases my senses. I thought I could picture them well enough alone but my faded daydreams were nothing compared to this vibrant, sensual reality. I give in to her kiss and feel the tension ease from my muscles as she claims my lips once more.

Her hand slips through my hair, teasing the strands between her elegant fingers.

"Do you think anyone will notice if we just sneak upstairs?" she asks with a coy smile.

"I think they might," I reply reluctantly. "The children are-"

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! YOU GET DOWN HERE THIS MINUTE!"

Molly's ear-splitting shriek cuts sharply through the air despite the closed door. Moments later there's yet another cacophony of screeched insults from Mrs Black. The twins add their denials of innocence to her racket and the result is a deafening mess of noise that grates harshly on the eardrum.

"What on _earth_ is that?"

"Don't ask," I mutter. "We'd better see what's happening."

Reluctantly she slides back, tugging her dress safely back down over her knees and smoothing the creases out as best she can.

"Blasted muggle clothes."

Out in the hallway Molly is furiously brandishing a fistful of what looks like pink string. The twins are standing red faced and solemn at the bottom of the staircase.

"The gap under the door wasn't big enough anyway," one of them mumbles.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" Molly shouts. "You wait until your father finds out about this!"

"Oh, _Mum!_"

"Don't you dare 'Oh, Mum' me. Now make yourselves useful and take Professor McGonagall's bags upstairs," she snaps. "You can put them in the guest bedroom next to mine and your father's."

Minerva is standing next to me, eyebrows raised in a manner that I recognise quite distinctly from my days as her colleague. I give her a wry smile but she doesn't notice.

Molly, however, has noticed our arrival and takes a deep breath as she turns to face us. Gone is the angry mother berating her disobedient children. Instead she smiles politely.

"I'm so sorry about that, Professor. Remus, would you be kind enough to give me a hand with dinner? We've quite a full house tonight and there's no sign of any of the others yet. But please try not to drop anything this time."

"Of course," I say politely, though I'd much rather be helping Minerva upstairs.

Minerva decides to go and change for dinner and Molly gives her directions to the guest bedroom. I try to avoid catching her eye. I know she won't be sleeping there tonight, not if either of us have anything to do with it. But for now, those thoughts will have to wait.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

Down in the kitchen, dinner is almost ready and the pleasing aroma of Molly's cooking fills the air. Most of the work is done now: only the gravy left to make and the table still to be laid. I oblige with the latter, carrying the plates and cutlery to the table by hand and humming softly to myself as I work. We're soon joined by Moody, Tonks and Arthur: home from the Ministry and talking in low, serious voices as they make their way down into the kitchen. Hestia follows closely behind. She's been on Privet Drive all day and I'm relieved to hear that all seems to be peaceful. I know it can't be pleasant for Harry but he is at least protected there. I make myself useful by serving the drinks. The flagon of firewhisky that Dumbledore brought us is almost empty now: a sad sign of the pressure that we are all feeling.

Minerva appears barely a quarter of an hour later. She has pinned her hair up into its usual tight bun and put her glasses back on. The hated muggle dress has been discarded in favour of a black velvet top and an ankle length skirt that trails on the steps as she comes down into the kitchen. She greets the rest of the group in her usual reserved manner but, despite her seemingly sedate appearance, Mad Eye only just manages to avoid spitting his wine across the table. I swear I've never seen the man go so red. I can guess the reason for his discomfort and, now more than ever, I can't wait for dinner to be over so I can find out exactly what his magic eye is seeing.

There's a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the children arrive in a noisy crowd, several of them giving Minerva a double take. I notice Ron immediately straighten up a little at the sight of his Head of House. The twins merely roll their eyes when she's looking the other way: yet another teacher here to spoil the holiday. The only one amongst them to offer a greeting is Hermione, and this earns her a 'Good evening, Miss Granger' and a fond smile from Minerva. Once everyone's settled Molly serves up dinner and the conversations around the table abruptly end.

As soon as I've finished my food I excuse myself, too impatient to wait for dessert. Finally I'm free. The rest of the evening is ours and I intend to make it as special as I possibly can. I take the stairs two at a time, running through the options in my head. Grimmauld Place is hardly the ideal romantic setting but I'm hoping we can work around that somehow.

* * *

Sirius and I both have rooms on the third floor of this impossibly proportioned house – two floors above Molly, Arthur and any guests and one floor above the children. I decide that a hot bath would be a pleasant start to the evening. Minerva has always been fond of baths. And Sirius won't be up for a while. Female company is one thing he particularly misses (his cousin and Molly not withstanding) and as I left the kitchen he was busy plying Hestia with more wine. I suspect he's a little envious of me. After all, if any of the Marauders had been daring and suave enough to seduce the teacher it was surely Sirius. But deep down I think he's glad that I'm happy. I only wish that he could be happy too.

Anticipation thrills through my veins as I run the bath, adding a liberal splash of Minerva's favourite bath oil. Something of Sirius' old self emerged when he saw it on the shelf. He teased me mercilessly for using 'girlie' toiletries and I gladly indulged him.

The creaking taps are eventually persuaded to dispense hot water, though the groans from the antique pipework suggest that this state of affairs will not be maintained indefinitely. I light a few of the candles that Sirius left up here in half-hearted anticipation and the softer light helps to disguise the gloom. The walls are grimy and the tiles stained beyond salvage: neither magic nor elbow grease makes a difference. It's a far cry from the comfortable private bathroom and huge tub that Minerva is used to at Hogwarts but it'll have to do for now. I want this evening to last. I want it to be special, because it i is /i special, even without having to wait three weeks for it.

Does she know how much I've missed her? I can't wait for her to appear. Communication by owl, floo and patronus cannot replace the intimacy we once shared freely. And yet, despite that intimacy, I feel strangely nervous now, almost as if none of that had ever happened.

There's a gentle tap on the half open door and I turn around with a smile on my face.

"Hallo, Remus. I wonder if I might borrow some of your shaving soap?"

Arthur beams at me and I nod weakly, gesturing towards the small cabinet in the corner and praying he'll go before Minerva arrives.

"Thank you. Molly threw mine away, you know. Of course, it'd nearly run out anyway, but somehow I haven't quite had the time to pop out and get some more."

"No problem."

Arthur smiles jovially, one man to another, but his forced cheeriness cannot disguise the lines of worry etched around his tired eyes. I have the distinct impression that he wants to stop and chat. A few times we've shared tumblers of whiskey and fake reassurances in the drawing room, much to the dismay of Sirius, who'd far rather have me playing poker with himself and Nymphadora. Still, there will be plenty more evenings for both. Tonight I think I am justified in being selfish. I say nothing more and merely smile politely. Arthur gets the message and, soap in hand, turns to go.

"Having a bath, eh Remus? Jolly good way to relax. I'd better leave you to it."

The door finally clicks shut and I exhale in relief. The bath is soon ready and the bottle of Mme Maurier's Ever-Chilled Finest Champagne that I've been saving since I left Hogwarts is sitting on the floor beside the tap. There are clean towels on a nearby chair. To make things complete I slip my hand into my pocket and draw out my wedding ring, placing it firmly back on my finger where it belongs. Then, I slowly remove my clothes and settle myself into the tub.

* * *

Barely five minutes later she slips through the door. Now she's back to the Minerva I know: tumbling waves of raven hair and cream silk robe and wine glass in hand and cheeks flushed.

"Oh, Professor Lupin!" she teases. "I do apologise. I had no idea this bathroom was taken."

She pushes the door closed with her free hand and leans back against it.

"Perhaps I ought to go downstairs?" She arches an eyebrow, immediately taking me right back to my student days spent hopelessly admiring her from the front row of the Transfiguration classroom.

"Perhaps I might be persuaded to share," I offer in return. I try and match her best teacher-like expression with one of my own but I'm not nearly as experienced as she is and I can tell from the slight twitch of her mouth that it shows.

"Perhaps I should undress," she muses in mock seriousness. She moves her hand to the front of her robe and suggestively slides it open a few inches. And although she's trying to hide it, I notice that she's trembling and, in that instant, realise that Minerva - Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts as well as my long term lover and friend – is just as nervous as I am at the thought of the intimacy to come. This realisation rather takes me aback. I wasn't expecting it, not from her, but I feel curiously glad all the same.

Putting my thoughts aside, I shrug disinterestedly. "Entirely up to you, Professor. But" – and here I let the warmth back into my voice – "I might just have to do it for you if you don't bloody well get a move on."

This has the desired effect. Minerva beams warmly at me and I see her visibly relax. She comes forward to set her glass down beside the bathtub. One hand tangles itself gently in my hair, then slips down to caress my cheek. One tender kiss is shared before she steps away once more, ensuring that I get a good view of the reward I've just earned.

She unfastens the sash of her robe and shrugs her shoulders so that the fabric slides slowly down her arms. A moment later it falls to the floor in a shiny heap of discarded fabric. Beneath it she's wearing something new: ivory satin and lace. I realise it's what I should have seen three weeks ago but didn't because fate conspired to send us on separate paths before I had a chance to tenderly slide her bridal robes from her shoulders and make love to her the way I wanted to. I was hoping for black lace, perhaps, or possibly emerald, but I'm glad she's chosen this instead. I hope this means she feels the same way as I do: that this is not just a simple reunion but at last our chance to seal our marriage completely.

"Come here," I manage eventually, though I'm struggling to contain myself now. I've had enough of the games. I want her. I want her i now /i .

Obediantly she steps forward and I marvel once more at the sight of her: this woman, this wonderful woman whose strength and integrity and intelligence far outstrips all of her contemporaries. Who has all the courage and pride of the lion that symbolises Gryffindor House. Who can be stern and professional when the occasion demands but still remains the most sensual and passionate woman I have ever had the fortune to know. My heart wills me to grab hold of her, to pull her close and never let go. When she lifts one foot onto the edge of the bathtub I unclip her stocking and grunt impatiently as I try to tug it down.

With a sudden loud crash the door flies open. Minerva's head jerks up and her foot slips off the edge of the bath. Her heel connects forcibly with a certain rather sensitive part of my anatomy and pain explodes like the Cruciatus curse across my groin. This, surely, is torture in its purest form.

When I finally recover enough to raise my head Minerva has already put her dressing gown back on and is doing her best to calm down a red faced and clearly horrified Nymphadora Tonks.

"I'm sorry, Professor! I didn't know you were… you were…"

She runs a distracted hand through her bubblegum pink hair.

"You weren't to know," Minerva says soothingly. "It's not your fault we forgot to lock the door."

"The kids were messing about downstairs," Tonks protests, "and I thought this bathroom would be free."

"It's fine, Nymphadora. It was an accident. And please, call me Minerva."

"Tonks," comes the muttered reply.

A half smile flickers on Minerva's lips.

"Really? Still?"

Tonks shrugs unhappily and turns to leave, shooting me a miserable glance as she does so. When the door clicks back Minerva checks that I'm all right, then sits back on the edge of the tub and sighs. Now there is another who knows our secret. I know she'd promised Dumbledore that she'd keep it quiet. I know, too, that Dumbledore is thrilled to see her happy at last and that he'd understand and forgive even if she'd announced it in the Daily Prophet. Sadly, I don't think Minerva sees that.

It's not as if she wants to keep it quiet, though. Minerva is a Gryffindor through and through. She'd gladly have proclaimed her love for me from the rooftops, angrily defying anyone to cast aspersions on her choice of partner. But, luckily, my wife is as intelligent as she is proud. Hogwarts needs Minerva just as it does Dumbledore. The stakes are high and this isn't a game any more. We cannot afford to be selfish.

But even so…

…sometimes in my darker moments I fantasise about leaving. Just the two of us. We could pack what little we needed and travel far away from Grimmauld Place, from Hogwarts, from the Ministry and from all that threatens them. We could find peace somewhere far away, and put an end to the sneaking around and passive lies that strain our relationship despite our best attempts to resist them. I know in my heart that I couldn't, of course. But, even so, sometimes the thought is there and I feel like a coward for daring to entertain it, even for just a second.

This silence has gone on long enough. Surely the evening is still salvageable? I smile wryly at her and she holds the towel out to me as I climb awkwardly out of the tub. I move to kiss her but then see that the mood has evaporated along with the steam from the bath.

She sighs heavily, weary now. The journey is catching up with her, as is the dishonesty.

"Maybe we should just go to bed," she concedes. "There'll be time tomorrow for… the other thing."

And, much as I hate to admit it, I think she's right.


End file.
